


The Price of Life

by FireflyAlchemist



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: AU, F/M, Lawyers, pretty much everone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyAlchemist/pseuds/FireflyAlchemist
Summary: Mustang is a defense lawyer in new York City, aimed for the top, when an interesting case comes across his desk involving a fifteen year old boy, Edward Elric, who supposedly shot his mother. The farther Mustang digs, the deeper the mystery runs, and the more convinced he becomes that Edward isn't guilty. Can he and his paralegal, Riza Hawkeye, prove Edward's innocence?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so I'm in the process of transferring this story from FFnet where there are 7 chapters posted (I haven't finished writing it yet). I'll probably be posting about a chapter a week here, but if you really want to read on, my username over there is Firefly Alchemist, and the story name is the same. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

On his way to midtown Manhattan, Roy Mustang stopped by a small coffee shop a few blocks from his work. In addition to the expected coffee, it housed an assortment of muffins and other small pastries under the smudged glass counter. Mustang leaned down, eyes trailing over the options as though his choice was of the upmost importance. After a moment's contemplation, he straightened back up. "I'll take a black coffee, a chai latte, and blueberry muffin," he informed the woman behind the counter with an air of arrogance that was to be expected from a young, New York professional.

The woman barely inclined her head to show that she'd heard his order. Her short brown hair that was pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck and the bags under her eyes made it clear that she would've rather been anywhere instead of taking coffee orders at seven thirty in the morning. "Will that be all, sir?" she asked, reaching down to pull a muffin out from the display.

"Yes," Mustang answered, a flirting smirk wrapping its way around his mouth.

The woman perked up a little at the look on his face. "And will that be for here or to go?" she asked.

"To go."

She deflated slightly, but nodded. She called the order to a few employees working behind her. Within a few minutes, she handed a tray of drinks as well as a small brown bag to Mustang.

"Thank, you, sir." She said as he turned to go.

Mustang nodded in acknowledgment and left the small shop without any further ado.

For a morning in early May, the weather was surprisingly nice in New York City. For the first time in weeks, the sky wasn't overcast with the threat of rain, and the temperature was finally starting to go up. It was for this reason that Mustang had decided to forgo his usual taxi ride in favor of the longer walk to work.

After a few more minutes of side stepping cyclists and barely managing to pull the drinks out of the way of early morning joggers and too-curious dogs, Mustang was standing in front of the skyscraper, F. Bradley: Practitioners at Law. Architecturally, the building was nothing remarkable, in fact the term 'skyscraper' could only be applied to the building loosely. Although it was almost fifty stories, it was easily dwarfed by the buildings surrounding it. It almost exactly mirrored the clichéd image of a large office building. Perfectly rectangular in shape, its gray walls were marked with periodic windows, the same number for every floor, all the way up to the top.

Without pausing to take in the building's profoundly dull appearance, Mustang quickly entered the swiveling glass doors.

Even at eight in the morning the office was bustling with people. Billable hours started as early as possible, and the associates, who were required to reach 2,400 hours a year, almost always got to the office early to get a jump start on the day.

A smile played on the corners of Mustang's lips as a particularly harried young attorney almost ran in to him, and he remembered his own days as an associate.

Roy Mustang had worked at the law firm F. Bradley for a total of six years, including the two summers he interned there while still in law school. In that time, he had reached the exalted position of junior partner, a practically unheard of jump in ranks after only four years of being an associate. Most credited his quick rise to his charisma and vaguely arrogant charm that (for some reason) got clients to open up.

F. Bradley was the leading defense firm in New York City. Although their New York office was by far their largest and highest profile, the firm had smaller operations in a scattering of towns throughout the northeast of the US. The firm was fairly new, it's founder, F. Bradley himself, was still a practicing attorney. The older multi-generational firms had been forced to make way for the rising behemoth. In such a fast growing corporation, getting clients to open up and be honest was an invaluable skill that greatly cut down on the hours of research that would otherwise be needed to win a case.

Mustang quickened his pace, just barely managing to catch the elevator before the doors shut. He took a moment to regain his breath, taking the time to check to make sure that the drinks were all right. Just as his breathing started to return to normal, a shoulder jerked into him. He turned his head sharply, and sighed as soon as he saw the shoulder's owner. One Frank Archer. He was a new associate attorney. Renowned for his ruthlessness in the courtroom and his incredible ability to discredit the prosecution's witnesses, in any other law firm he would be heralded as the great up and comer, the golden boy. Any law firm at which Roy Mustang didn't also work that is.

Archer glared at Mustang as he exited the elevator. Mustang pointedly ignored him, instead focusing his attention on the items he was carrying.

A few minutes later he got off at his floor. As he entered his office, he was greeted by his legal team.

"Hey, Chief," Jean Havoc said, cigarette smoke curling around his head.

"You know there's a no smoking policy in this building," Mustang replied dryly, looking at his paralegal.

Havoc shrugged, as though the policy didn't pertain to him. "The Lieutenant's not here," he said, as way of explanation.

The Lieutenant was the affectionate nickname Mustang's team had given Riza Hawkeye, Mustang's most senior paralegal.

Mustang frowned. "You know, technically I'm the one in charge here."

Havoc laughed. "Keep telling yourself that, chief."

"Yeah, well those things'll kill you!" Mustang retorted in what he was fully aware was a completely juvenile response.

Havoc laughed and flicked some ashes from the end of the cigarette into an ashtray at his elbow.

"Yeah, put it out!" Heymans Breda, the last of Mustang's three paralegals, said, coming up to stand beside Havoc. In a quick motion, he snatched the cigarette from between Havoc's lips and pressed it into the ashtray. "Just because you want lung cancer doesn't mean the rest of us do."

Havoc glowered, "Hey! Not cool, man!"

Mustang rolled his eyes at their antics. "Where's Hawkeye?" He asked the rest of his team (Havoc and Breda were still bickering behind him) as he placed the coffees and muffin on his desk.

Kain Fury, a young tech wizard looked up. "I think she's at the police station. She got a tip from one of her contacts that there might be a case," he said in an uncertain voice. He was the newest member of the team, and quite an anomaly. It was highly unusual for a legal team to have a tech guy as a member, but with a little push from Mustang, the senior partners had given him permission to hire Fury. Fury's insights on any technical aspects of cases were invaluable. Plus, Mustang liked the kid, even if he was constantly nervous.

"Falman?" Mustang asked the final member of his team, their information coordinator. Vato Falman had an excellent memory, perfect for keeping track of every piece of info in cases as well as having aptitude for remembering even the most obscure and outdated laws.

Falman stood straight up as Mustang called his name. "Yes, sir! Fury is correct, sir. She left for the precinct about half an hour before you arrived. She said she would call you with an update after she had more information!"

Mustang sighed. Falman was definitely efficient, but he could stand to loosen up a little. "Did she leave any details about what the case might be about?"

"She did not sir!"

"Thanks, Falman," Mustang said, waving his hand to tell the tall man to return to work. He sat down at his desk and opened the nearest file. They had just been in court the previous week, which meant that Mustang had a fairly light load of work. He just had to finish up some paperwork for their last client, and then it would be time to start a new case. He spared a moment to wonder what the one Hawkeye was looking into was.

Staking out the police station was a fairly common gig for associates. They were all scrambling to get as many hours as possible as well as to bring in big clients to impress the partners. Soon, however, they almost all realized that it was simply more trouble than it was worth. They might be able to pick up a few extra hours, but fishing for clients was almost always a bust. The ones that were rich enough to impress the partners always had their own attorneys. Sometimes, the associates would get lucky, and catch someone just firing an incompetent lawyer, or perhaps someone who had just come into money. All in all though, these cases were fairly rare and ultimately the slim chance was not worth the subway ride to the station.

The idea of a partner staking out the police station was almost unheard of. They were big enough and had proven themselves competent enough that the clients came to them. It was a matter of pride among the senior lawyers that no advertising was necessary (god forbid they sink to the level of ambulance chasers and the like). Mustang's priorities rarely lined up with the rest of the partners, however, not that he was about to tell them that.

He leaned back in his chair (the paperwork in front of him forgotten) and wondered about the details of the case. He reached for the paper bag from the coffee shop. Just as he was pulling out the blueberry muffin, his phone rang.

"Hello?" he asked, taking a bite of the muffin.

"Sir, it's Hawkeye," came the reply.

"Great, great," he said, mouth full of muffin.

There was a static-y sigh from the other end. "I think you need to come down here, sir."

"Why?" Mustang asked, leaning forward, elbows pressed against his desk.

"There's a case you want to take."


	2. Chapter 2

"So what's so important about this case, Hawkeye?" Mustang asked, meeting his number one outside the police station. He was carrying the chai latte he had bought earlier (now completely cold) and handed it to the woman in front of him.

Hawkeye took a sip of the tea, and, if the coldness bothered her, she didn't let it show. "You want it, trust me," she said quickly. Too quickly.

Mustang narrowed his eyes. "And the details?" he asked, holding the door open for her as they both entered the building.

She sighed. "It's not great, sir." She hesitated a moment, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth. "A fifteen-year-old kid shot his mother."

Mustang took a step back and let the door swing shut. "What?"

"At least that's what the police say."

"Oh, that's what the police say." Mustang ran a hand along the edge of his mouth. "And what evidence do they have to back up this undoubtedly wild claim?"

Again Hawkeye hesitated. "His finger prints are on the gun, her blood was all over him, and when the cops burst in, they saw him standing over the body." Her voice was monotone, as if she was reading out items on a shopping list. "Oh! And according to neighbors and friends he has some anger issues."

Mustang stared at her, incredulous. She met his eyes with a subtle confidence, obstinately refusing to show how extreme the evidence was. After he had glared at her stubborn expression for a few moments, he found himself looking away. "Tell me again why I want this case," he asked.

"Because he's innocent."

The simplicity of her answer brought his eyes back to hers. "What makes you so sure?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Look, I know it seems bad, but all of the evidence is circumstantial. There could be a million explanations for it. I mean if a kid walks into a house and finds his mother dead or dying on the floor, it's completely reasonable to think that he would grab her, or try to stop the flow of blood. And, if the real shooter wiped the gun beforehand and he picked it up, it could explain the fingerprints…" Hawkeye trailed off.

"That's not a lot to go on," Mustang said.

"That's reasonable doubt." Her voice was definitive, leaving no room for argument.

Mustang sighed. "Fine, maybe he didn't shoot his mother, but let some other lawyer prove it." He started towards the door, but Hawkeye blocked his path.

"If you don't represent him, he'll go to jail." Her voice had the same confidence as when she'd declared the kid innocent.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because he's not doing himself any favors." She sighed. "Right now, he's sitting in the interrogation room refusing to cooperate, insulting the detectives, and killing any chance he's got. If you stick him with the rookies they assign for public defense, his trial will last all of ten minutes."

Mustang groaned. "You're not going to let me out of this, are you?"

"It's unlikely, sir."

He paused and looked at her for a moment. She was as proper as always, shoulders straight, blonde hair crisply pinned up, and shirt spotless and unwrinkled. To a casual observer she would appear fine if perhaps a little detached, but from the slight tension in her jaw and something he couldn't even pinpoint in her stance (the way her knees were bent?) he could tell this mattered to her. Mustang groaned again. "Fine, I'll take it, but only to get you off my back."

Hawkeye smiled. "I expected nothing less."

"So what's this kid's name?"

"Edward Elric. He's fifteen, and lives on the south side in a small apartment with his mother, Trisha Elric, and little brother."

"No father?" Mustang asked.

"The police haven't been able to track him down. Seems the mother had been raising the boys on her own for years."

Well wasn't that a picture. Fatherless kid living in a bad part of town snaps and shoots his mother, not to mention the cherry on top that was known anger issues and refusal to cooperate. Mustang sighed. The prosecution was going to have field day. Yep, he already knew he was going to regret taking this case. "Where is he?" he asked.

"In interrogation room 3 with Buccaneer. I watched some through the glass, but they wouldn't let me in. I talked to his brother who's sitting with Neil. Nice kid, insists his brother is innocent, which seems hopeful."

"Well I guess it's time to meet my client." With that, Mustang marched confidently towards the interrogation rooms, Hawkeye following closely behind. As he approached them, he caught sight of a kid, maybe twelve or thirteen, with dark-blond hair and big gold eyes sitting haplessly on a bench. He slowed, and nodded to the kid as they passed. "The brother?" He whispered to Hawkeye.

She nodded in confirmation. "Alphonse, fourteen years old."

"Does he have anywhere to go?" Mustang asked, feeling a pang for the kid despite himself. He couldn't help it, the boy just looked so pathetic and confused huddled on the bench, eyes downcast. And no wonder, his mother was dead and the police were saying his brother did it.

"I don't know, sir."

"Find out. If we're taking this case we're doing it right."

Hawkeye nodded and peeled off to go and speak to Alphonse.

Mustang continued a few more feet, stopping when he reached the third interrogation room. He paused a moment, taking in a deep breath and collecting his thoughts before he pushed open the door.

The scene that greeted him was more less what he was expecting. The lights were low and a shiny metal desk sat between two people. On one side Detective Buccaneer, a huge man with his head shaved on both sides with a long black braid running down the center, was leaning over the table. He was wearing a collared shirt rolled up at the elbows and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck. An NYPD jacket hung on the chair behind him. It was clear they had been there for a while. Across from the Detective sat a fairly scrawny teenager (Mustang couldn't tell from where he was standing, but he would wager the kid was pretty short as well), with shoulder length blond hair. He was leaned back in his seat (as far as was possible with his hands cuffed to the table) and was glaring at Buccaneer. Both turned when Mustang entered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Buccaneer asked as the door swung shut behind him.

"I think the real question is the what the hell are you doing?" Mustang responded confidently, moving to stand behind the kid, and staring the large Detective in the eye.

"This is a murder investigation!" Buccaneer thundered angrily. "I don't care who you think you are, Mustang, but you can't come barging in here like-"

"I'm Mr. Elric's legal counsel."

"Who the hell are you?" the kid asked, turning in his chair to look Mustang over contemptuously. "I didn't hire any lawyer."

Buccaneer ignored his suspect and continued glaring at Mustang. "There is no way the PD's office sent you over."

A mocking smile spread across Mustang's mouth. "Wonderful observation! It's good to know that some detective work gets done around here."

Buccaneer's eyes narrowed. "You have no right to be-"

Mustang moved to the other side of the desk so he standing only inches from the Detective. "Actually I do." His voice was deathly calm. "You however have no right to be interviewing my underage client without a parent, guardian, or representative from child protective services present."

Buccaneer gritted his teeth. "There's not a parent here because he shot the only one he had!"

"You bastard!" The kid made as if to launch himself at the detective but was stopped by the handcuffs.

"That's enough!" Mustang said. "Now, unless you have a court order to arrest my client, we're leaving."

"You can't just walk out of here with a murder suspect!"

"Oh yeah? How about we see what the Ice Queen has to say about this?" Mustang turned to face the mirror on the wall behind Buccaneer. "I'm sure she's watching." He raised his voice. "Hey, Olivier!" He walked up to the glass and banged on it a few times for affect. "Unless you want me to sue your entire department for misconduct, you better let my client go!"

They waited a few moments, and then the hallway door swung open. A women entered, maybe in her late thirties with pale blonde hair loose around her neck and expression of intense dislike on her face. A badge on the lapel of her perfectly-pressed jacket designated her as the police chief.

"Olivier! How nice to see you," Mustang said, lopsided grin on his face.

"It's Chief Armstrong to you." She glared at the lawyer for a moment. "You've made your point, Mustang."

"Hey, no need to get huffy, I'm not the one who illegally interviewed a minor."

She stepped forward, eyes steely and mouth set in a stiff line.

Mustang had to swallow the instinctive impulse to back away. Her glare was very impressive, almost equal to Hawkeye's.

"This boy is a suspect in a murder case." She said, her voice hard as ice.

"This boy is fifteen years old."

They glowered at each other for a few more moments, until Armstrong abruptly turned on her heel. "Fine."

"But Chief-" Buccaneer started to say, but was cut off with a hard stare.

"Cut him loose, Detective."

Buccaneer mumbled a few curses under his breath, but turned to the table and began undoing the handcuffs.

Edward didn't react, seeming too bewildered to even really realize what was going on.

Armstrong turned to face Mustang. "I am holding you personally responsible for this, Mustang. If this boy escapes or harms anyone else, you are the one who is going to answer for it."

Mustang resisted the urge to role his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Don't let him leave the city. You should expect official charges in a few days."

Mustang nodded. A few days. It wasn't a lot to work with, but after seeing the kid for himself, he couldn't help but agree with Hawkeye. Edward seemed innocent.

Buccaneer took Edward's shoulder and roughly shoved him towards Mustang.

The kid still seemed confused and stumbled a bit.

Mustang caught him, and unceremoniously herded him out of the room.

"Ed!" A voice cried as soon as they entered the hallway.

Mustang turned and saw the brother (Al something, Albert? Alfred? Alphonse, that was it) running toward them. He jumped at his big brother, hugging him tightly.

"Al…" Edward mumbled, belatedly wrapping his own arms around his brother's neck.

Hawkeye came to stand beside Mustang. "They don't have any relatives, but there's a neighbor, Pinako Rockbell, who used to look after them whenever their mother couldn't. Apparently she's the one Edward called with his one phone call. She and her granddaughter are on their way here, now."

Mustang sighed. "There's been a change of plans. I got them to let Edward go, but Olivier said official charges are coming soon. Unless we want him to spend his trial in jail we've got to start preparing for the arraignment now. Get a hold of the Rockbells and tell them to meet us at the office. We need all the information we can get."

Hawkeye nodded and hurried away, undoubtedly off to bully some poor rookie officer into letting her borrow their phone.

Mustang turned back to the reunion scene between the two brothers. "This is very touching and all, but we need to go," he said.

Edward and Alphonse turned to face him, one looking grateful the other deeply suspicious.

"Who the hell are you?" Edward asked for the second time. "I didn't hire a lawyer, and like Detective Asswipe said, there's no way you're a public defender."

Mustang wasn't sure if he should chuckle or be offended, but luckily, Alphonse seemed more equipped to deal his brother than Mustang.

"Brother! Mr. Mustang just got you released!"

Edward looked at the younger boy incredulously. "You know who this is?"

Alphonse blushed. "Miss Hawkeye told me they're representing you and are going to get you off!"

Edward glared back at Mustang. "What's in this for you?" he asked bluntly.

"Brother!" Alphonse exclaimed again, but was ignored by both Edward and Mustang.

"Excuse me?" Mustang asked.

"You heard me. What's your game?" The teenager had untangled himself from his brother's embrace and stepped forward to face Mustang head on. The lawyer had to admit the kid certainly looked the part of a young hoodlum, loose black tank top and baggy black pants, not to mention the oversized red hoodie that was draped over one arm. Mustang spared a moment to wonder what had happened to the bloody clothes. The police must have confiscated them and Edward was most likely wearing an outfit his brother or some police officer had picked up from home or happened to have lying around.

"There's no game-" he started to say.

"Oh so you're just doing this out of the goodness of your heart?" Edward asked sarcastically. "We don't have any money, so you must be after the fame."

"Fame?" Mustang asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, fame. I'm not an idiot. A case like this is going to get a lot of attention from the media, especially if you play it right. I bet you just want to attach your name to it and increase your exposure."

Mustang had to hand it to him, this kid was sharper than he looked. "I'm the number one defense lawyer in the state, trust me, exposure is not on the list of things I need."

"Yeah right, you're a lawyer! Any publicity is good publicity, right? It doesn't matter if you lose as long as your name gets in all the papers."

"Brother!"

Edward turned to face Alphonse. "We can't trust people like him! He's just looking out for himself, he doesn't give a shit what happens to us."

"Mom would want-"

"Mom is dead, Al." Edward's voice was hard. "It doesn't matter what she would've wanted."

Mustang wasn't sure if Edward noticed the tears forming in Alphonse's eyes. He sighed. "I have my own reasons for defending you case—I'm not going to deny that," he said calmly. "But they're not nearly as short-sighted and self-serving as you think. I promise that my main goal in all of this is to prove your innocence."

"See?" Al asked, but Edward still seemed far from convinced.

"Besides," Mustang continued. "I'm your best—actually your only shot. Think what you want of me, but without my help, you're going to spend the rest of your life in jail."

Edward was still glaring at him. "I can survive prison."

Mustang almost groaned, this kid was unbelievable! Who the hell did he think he was fooling? All he was going to do was get himself in more trouble. Mustang sighed. "Think about your brother, what's going to happen to him if you get arrested?"

For the first time, Edward looked concerned. He glanced down at his brother instinctively, and Mustang knew he had hit the right spot.

"You may be able to survive jail, but how is Alphonse going to do alone in the foster system?"

Now Ed looked downright scared. "He won't go into foster care, Pinako will take him…" he said, though his wavering tone gave away his uncertainty.

Mustang shrugged. "Sure, if you think the court will allow an old woman who isn't a blood relative to take in a teenager from a dysfunctional household." In truth, he had no idea what the law said in regards to such things, but he had learned a long time ago that if you sounded confident, people around you would believe almost anything.

And, from the looks of it, Ed wasn't willing to run the risk. The teenager sighed. "Fine, you can represent me."

"Thanks for the permission, I'm jumping for joy," Mustang said sarcastically.

"But I still don't trust you." Edward seemed compelled to add.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Mustang said, leading the boys to the doors of the police station. As the two kids stepped out onto the street, Mustang watched them with a vaguely foreboding feeling in his stomach. Yeah, he was going to regret this.


End file.
